


Compassion Is a Virtue (But I Don't Have the Time)

by therev



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therev/pseuds/therev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy and Spock switch bodies. Things get out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compassion Is a Virtue (But I Don't Have the Time)

**Author's Note:**

> My "I'm probably never going to write porn for this fandom" didn't last long. AOS characterization. Title is from a rad Talking Heads song called "No Compassion".

"Fascinating," Spock said with McCoy's mouth.

"That's not really the word I was gonna use!" McCoy said with Spock's.

They stood on the bridge, the crew watching them. The laughter had died down after everyone began to realize it wasn't a joke.

Jim looked back and forth between them, Spock's features furious, nostrils flared, Bones looking placidly unimpressed. This shit was above his pay grade.

"Alright, so, here's what we do…"

Everyone held their breath. So did he.

"I got nothin'," he said, and grimaced. "I hate to say it but I think you're on your own. If this had happened to anyone else, I'd have sent them to you two, so..."

"So! So?" McCoy shouted, Spock's face flushing bright green. "That's all you've got to say is, so? Look at this!?" He ruffled Spock's hair. "Look at these!" He pulled on Spock's ears.

"Doctor, I will thank you not to brutalize my body while you are in residence," the Spock that was now McCoy said. "The captain is right. You and I are our own best hope of figuring out how the energy field was able to transfer our consciousnesses, and indeed to ensure that it has not happened to anyone else. Additionally, I might also observe that your outbursts are unfounded, as you have benefitted most from this transference, possessing, as you currently do, the superior physiology of a Vulcan. Essentially, doctor, you have been upgraded, while I have been--"

"If you finish that sentence, pointy, I'm gonna use this superior body to upgrade this bridge with your face!"

Jim frowned. "But it's your face now, Bones." 

Scotty was smiling. "And you're the one with the pointy--"

"Oh shut up all of you!" McCoy said, flailing with Spock's arms, and stepped onto the turbolift.

The doors snicked shut behind him and Jim was left looking at Spock-in-Bones.

"Spock?" he said, still hoping to be wrong.

"Yes, captain." Spock said. His calm tones made McCoy's voice sounds eerily sweet. 

Jim sighed. "You guys can fix this, right?"

Spock crossed McCoy's arms over his chest and raised one furry brow slightly. "Difficult to say for certain, however I estimate the odds to be…"

Jim waited. Spock's brow furrowed enough that he almost looked as if it could be just Bones in there.

"Captain," Spock said, something Jim might have called panic creeping into his voice, "I regret to inform you that I am unable to complete that calculation at this time. This inferior brain…"

Jim winced but moved to put a hand on Bones's--no, Spock's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Spock, I know you guys can do it. Just, you know, be nice to him. Ixnay on the inferior being stuff, okay?"

Spock nodded, clasped his hands behind his back and entered the turbolift. Jim turned to the rest of the crew.

He took a breath.

"Anybody else in anybody else's bodies?... Great. Warp factor three, Mr. Sulu."  
__

The really fucked up thing, Bones decided a few simulated days later, was that Spock had been right.

He couldn't stay angry about the whole thing for long. It wasn't Spock's fault they encountered _yet another_ bizarre space anomaly. So they'd been working together to fix their situation, recreating circumstances, searching historical ship's logs for any sign of something similar, performing rigorous physical exams to determine any physiological cause. Nothing they tried told them anything useful, and yet everything told Bones one thing conclusively: Spock's body really was an upgrade.

He could think clearer, see clearer, even goddamned hear better! The only hurdle had been the telepathy, which he'd learned quickly could overcome him. But Spock had caught up to him shortly after the whole thing started, found him in the hallway about to go mad from all the things he suddenly knew and could sense. Spock had helped.

Now he watched Spock struggle in his own human body, actually taking out a PADD to perform calculations, and McCoy wondered if he always looked as clumsy as Spock did lumbering around in that body of his.

"I admit this calculation eludes me, doctor," Spock said, placing the PADD on McCoy's desk and rubbing his brow. It was still strange to look over and see a mirror of himself speaking in Spock's precise cadence, even if, in spite of Spock's best efforts, the mouth he borrowed was often tinged with an accent.

"Well what makes you think I'll do any better?"

"Because you shall be using my brain," Spock said, clearly irritated, nostrils flaring, and Jesus did he have huge nostrils. 

McCoy sneered, then looked at the PADD. It only took him 3.48 seconds to find the solution, but he hesitated for another 12.43 and said "Hmm" and "let's see" before entering the figures and handing it back over.

Spock sighed, chest expanding, shoulders dropping. He'd had to wear McCoy's clothes and even though it was McCoy's body it had still been strange, trading off pairs of underwear and science blues while standing in each other's quarters.

McCoy stood and walked around the desk. "Look, Spock, you're just tired." He put a hand on Spock's shoulder and immediately regretted it as he was flooded with a rush of fatigue and frustration. He jerked his hand back and felt his stomach flip.

"You have not been meditating, doctor," Spock said as McCoy stumbled back to lean against his desk. "My body requires it. The mental shields should be treated as any other part of the body which requires rest."

"Hey, I'm the doctor here, that's my line." McCoy said, standing straighter, which, in Spock's body, was very straight. " _You're_ not sleeping enough! _My_ body requires bare minimum six hours out of twenty-four, but the closer you can get to nine the better."

Spock nodded, face going all slack and calm, looking too much like himself with McCoy's face. "It would seem that we have both been remiss in caring for the other's property."

"Damn straight," McCoy said, too enthusiastically. "I mean, yes, it seems we both have."

"There's nothing more we can accomplish tonight. I bid you goodnight, doctor." Spock turned to leave. 

McCoy thought of something.

"Oh hey, Spock," he said, and Spock stopped at the door. McCoy stepped a little closer and said softly, "If I can't, I mean, If you can't… I often have trouble sleeping, I dunno if that's just my mind or what, but…just a little nip of brandy should set you right up." He winked. 

Spock looked dubious, which was kind of hilarious on McCoy's face, then he softened. "Incense, doctor."

"Pardon?"

"Should sleep elude you, try burning incense," he said, then the doors snicked shut behind him.  
__

It was regrettable, but Spock had to admit that the doctor was right. He was tired. McCoy's human body required far more rest than his Vulcan one. Its physical limitations were astonishing, almost as inhibitive as its mental limitations, but these were nothing compared to the strain of emotionalism. Perhaps McCoy's emotions were greater than most, he couldn't be certain without inhabiting other human bodies and making the comparison. It was not an experiment he wished to pursue.

He had been able to remain calm in the captain's presence after the unfortunate event with the energy field had displaced himself and Dr. McCoy, but he had felt a growing concern, not unlike what humans call panic. Then he had found McCoy in the hallway on hands and knees, clutching at Spock's own head as if to stop the flood of telepathic information, and the rush of compassion and empathy had almost been crippling. McCoy had helped. The breathing techniques were not unlike those used for meditation.

Yet he was unable to meditate in McCoy's body. He could sit in his robes, in the right positions (though his knees grew sore soon after), but the best he could manage was a light meditative state, much like those Vulcan schoolchildren are first taught, and, invariably, he would fall asleep. 

Sleep was eluding him just then, however, as he lay in his bunk, foregoing even an attempt at meditation. It could have been due to McCoy's earlier suggestion (humans were especially susceptible to suggestion) or what the captain sometimes referred to as being unable to "wind down". Spock had finally understood that expression after working so closely with the doctor for the past few days. The tension in his shoulders was taut as a spring, and the right shoulder ached for it. McCoy had explained it as an injury incurred during scholastic athletics.

It wasn't just physical discomfort keeping him awake. Something probed at the back of his mind, something not unlike a mental intrusion of the Vulcan telepath variety.

The doctor was thinking about him, and he was thinking very hard. It was the telepathic equivalent of shouting into a bullhorn. 

Spock sat up, as if to listen a little harder. "What are you doing, doctor?" he said to himself in McCoy's rough voice. 

The intrusion came in flashes, glimpses, dream-like wisps of intention. He saw himself, his body, his face. He saw McCoy. He felt hands, hot breath. He sensed need, urgency. He understood carnality, desire, and a reckless submission to them.

He stood from his bunk, naked, his human body too hot even on this usually too-cold ship, unsurprised by McCoy's erection bobbing freely. He'd been dealing with the overly demanding organ for days now. He slipped into a pair of McCoy's underwear and one of his own robes and headed for the doctor's quarters, grateful when he passed no other crew personnel. The door was locked but with McCoy's face it snicked open as quickly as if it wasn't. 

McCoy was not immediately apparent in the room but the telepathic intrusion was strong so close, McCoy's mind was practically screaming at him, with its want and its need, and a particular vision of Spock… he knew where the doctor was.  
___

Hot water pounded on his chest, hotter than any shower McCoy had ever taken as a human, turning his--Spock's nipples an even darker greenish-blue. He knew Vulcans were supposed to dislike water but dammit, he was a human, not a Vulcan, no matter what body he was inhabiting, and nothing cleared his head or helped him rest like a hot shower. He watched the water roll down Spock's chest, the dark hairs there, and into the thicker patch of hair at Spock's sex.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought about Spock in the shower. It wasn't even the first time he'd seen him naked (or it hadn't been the first time when this all started) but all those other times were clinical and he knew how to keep his hormones and his profession separate. But it was getting harder to ignore the ache low in his belly, spreading out to fill Spock's penis. The mental controls Spock had taught him could overcome the desire, and had served him well; he'd been practicing Vulcan restraint for three simulated days, and yet the Terran in him was pretty tired of holding out. Also, a quick self-servicing would probably help him meditate.

He closed his eyes, let the water blank out all other sound, and slid his palm down to encircle Spock's shaft. Even just thinking that, of it belonging to Spock, made him that much harder. He began to stroke and… it was nice… he guessed…. He opened his eyes, looking down, tried a different angle. No… something was definitely missing, and it wasn't just testicles.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, deciding maybe it was for the best to push the arousal to the back of his mind. Maybe it just didn't work, humans and Vulcans, maybe they were too different, Spock's parents an exception to the rule. But then he stepped out into the steamy room and there, ghostly in the mirror, was Spock's reflection. He picked up a towel and wiped the steam away. He'd been looking at that face, that body in the mirror for days, but not like this, flushed with arousal and the heat of the shower, glistening with water, lips full and inexplicably pink, nipples diamond hard and that green-hued cock at full attention. 

"You filthy Vulcan," he said to the mirror in Spock's voice. His dick twitched. He reached out, throwing the towel aside, and touched the mirror where his hand was reflected in it, pressed his palm against Spock's in the cold glass. He thought of Spock's hands, watching them work, watching them probe minds alien and human alike, watching them comfort Jim when no one was watching. With his other hand he reached down and tried again to illicit pleasure. It was better this time. He thought of Spock holding his hand, coaxing him back to consciousness, arguing about illogical humans, gently plucking his harp, long fingers, with just the right tension, fuck, fuck, that was even better than better. He watched the mirror, eyes glued to that familiar face, those lips, thought of Spock calling his name, doctor... McCoy... "Leonard," he whispered in Spock's voice and moaned.

"Doctor?" Spock said in the doorway of the refresher.

McCoy jumped back from the mirror, startled, and nearly slipped on the damp floor. "Jesus, Spock, what the hell are you doing in here?" He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

"It is illogical to hide my own body from me, doctor, as I am fully acquainted with the sight. As for your question, I am here because you called me here."

McCoy clutched at the towel anyway. "What do you mean I called you… oh, dammit!" He made a gesture of futility toward his head. "Fucking telepathy." Spock probably saw and felt everything.

"Indeed, I did. Even now your mind cries out to me."

"Not really what a man with a hard-on wants to hear, Spock."

Spock stepped closer. He was wearing one of those loose Vulcan robes, a little tighter on McCoy's shoulders. Maybe it was weird but it didn't seem very weird when Spock reached out. It was McCoy's body, after all, why should it be strange that he anticipated comfort there. Then he remembered, and tensed. Spock's hand stilled. 

"Breathe, doctor," Spock said, moving even closer but not yet touching. "Do not fear my touch," he slid into the space behind McCoy, "focus on the pleasure," the whisper of something that might have been satin, "and I will provide the release that you seek."

There in the mirror McCoy watched the two of them, himself in Spock's body, Spock in his behind him, so close that he could feel the robe at his back, a hardness against his ass. His hair still dripped from the shower, his shoulders damp and cold, but Spock's human breath was hot on his neck and he leaned in close, impossibly hot, and Spock's hands hovered at his sides, waiting for permission until McCoy gave it, not with a nod or even the whimper he felt at the back of his throat, but a projected and resounding yes.

Spock first touched his hands. He tried to shield the flow of mental information the way that Spock had taught him but his shields really were weak.

"Do not try," Spock said in that rough voice that didn't really seem like McCoy's. "This is what you require." He coaxed McCoy's hands away from the towel and it fell to the floor, erection springing free, begging to be touched. "Vulcans require a link for true pleasure. A connection."

McCoy swallowed, his throat dry even in the humid room, and he tried, for the first time in days, to really relax his mind, a little at a time, as he felt Spock's mind caress his own, even as Spock's hands touched his body. Pleasure trickled in, like dipping his toe into cold water, then Spock closed his hand around his cock, hot as the breath on his neck, soft as the robe at his back, and he dove in head first. 

"Yes, doctor," Spock said, working his hand slowly, a different rhythm, different pressure than McCoy would have used. "Just like that."

"Spock..." McCoy said, panting, wondering where that Vulcan restraint was when he needed it. In the mirror he saw himself, Spock's face, flushed and needy, lips parted and brow furrowed, hands at his side, afraid to touch too much, and behind him, his own familiar face, calm and certain and still fucking talking.

"A most effective technique," Spock said, purring in McCoy's droning timbre, "requires delicate pressure over the sensitive head," he stroked forward and McCoy sighed, "and firmer pressure on the upward thrust," he performed the promised move and McCoy gasped, then again, and again and again. "As well as a judicious amount of pressure applied thusly," he said as he reached up and pinched one of those green nipples.

McCoy cried out, audibly, mentally, reached for the closest thing he could hold onto which happened to be Spock's arms around him, nails digging into biceps, and came over Spock's hand, the counter, the mirror. 

He gasped for air as Spock held him up, even though he required neither, as that superior Vulcan respiratory system was as efficient as the rest of him. He opened his eyes, having squeezed them shut, and in the mirror he caught Spock looking down at him, something like affection in that softened brow. He wouldn't have recognized it, except that it was his own look. He turned his head slightly, and their mouths were nearly touching. 

"Thanks, Spock," he said softly, quietly. 

Spock swallowed, that faraway look changing to something more Vulcan-like, though he did not yet move away.

"Gratitude is not required, doctor, I was simply addressing my own biological needs. That it occurred while you were in residence, is not relevant."

McCoy almost let himself be angry at that, then that quick Vulcan brain had an idea.

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Spock."  
___

Human arousal was very different from that of a Vulcan. It was desperate, and reckless, and, Spock found, made him a little stupid. Even with McCoy's inferior brain he should have known better than to say what he had, known how McCoy could use it against him, but he did not calculate his error until McCoy turned to him, hair all a mess, smirking with lips which did not, as a matter of course, smirk.

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Spock," McCoy said, standing so close his breath ghosted over Spock's lips, his collarbone when he leaned in and cupped the erection tenting his robe. "And now it's time I address some biological needs of my own," he purred. Spock was not aware that his own voice could sound so… lecherous.

"It is not necessary, doctor. I am accustom to dealing with your body's untimely arousal."

McCoy leaned back suddenly, "You mean you've been jerking me off? Meanwhile, I've been angsting over even _bathing_ out of respect for your goddamn famous Vulcan modesty?"

"An effort which I appreciate, doctor, but which ultimately, as our recent activities prove, has failed."

McCoy took a deep breath, but only nodded, moving closer once again. Apparently, the logic inherent to Spock's brain tempered his reactions. Fascinating.

"Well," McCoy said, pulling open the tie on Spock's robe, "accustom or not to dealing with the problem of my very human boner, " he punctuated this by palming Spock's hardness through his underwear, "you can't possibly know all my favorite tricks."

Spock swallowed, his heart racing. It made him feel more at home in this alien body. "That is an accurate observation."

McCoy smiled, "You bet your green ass it is." He slid a hand around to Spock's ass and palmed that, too. Spock drifted forward and their lips brushed, only slightly, accidentally even. There had not been any more mental shouting since McCoy had climaxed, trembling and keening, but through that simple touch came not only arousal but affection, and a degree of uncertainty. It took all of Spock's too human will to resist leaning forward and doing it again on purpose, but McCoy was watching him closely, suddenly still and quiet. Then he leaned back, but pulled Spock by the belt of his robe to follow him into his quarters. 

"C'mon, I'm gonna need a pillow for this."

Spock sat on McCoy's bed, thinking not for the first time that he should leave, but by then his natural curiosity had kicked in and he watched as McCoy moved around the room in Spock's body, strutting in a singularly McCoy sort of way as he crossed the room to pour drinks, but his other movements were foreign, the elegance of his long fingers, the gentle curve of his longer torso, the quiet behind all of his movements. Spock began to realize those had nothing to do with McCoy.

McCoy caught him watching.

"See something you like?"

"It is a singular experience. In a way, we are fortunate to have such an opportunity."

McCoy stood near him, smirked down at him, offered him a drink. Spock took it, knocking it back in one. McCoy's body could handle it.

"I think that might be an overstatement, Mr. Spock, but I can't argue that it isn't something you get to experience every day." McCoy reached for a pillow and dropped it onto the floor, then knelt between Spock's knees, the low light making his skin a little pinker. He took the glass from Spock and set it aside. "But then neither is this," he said, and for the first time since their lips brushed in the 'fresher, he laid hands on Spock, spreading his knees wider. 

There was no rush of emotion. McCoy must have regained control of his shields after the release of sexual tension. There was, however, the great sensation of touch alone, a thing Spock would never have thought could hold such ecstasy, to simply feel without restraint. He leaned back on his elbows and watched McCoy watching him with his own dark eyes, a predatory gleam as he rubbed his hands over Spock's, no, McCoy's thighs, the soft hairs that covered them, and then leaned up on his knees to press a kiss to the bulge in his underwear, nudging with his nose, outlining McCoys' dick with his tongue.

"Stop thinking of it as mine, Spock," McCoy said, betraying himself as reading Spock's mind. "It's your pleasure. Just feel it."

Spock nodded and lifted his hips when McCoy tugged on the band of his underwear and slid them down his legs. He tugged at Spock from behind the knees, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed, and smiled. 

"You're gonna love this," he promised and bent that dark head to Spock's groin.

Spock was familiar with the human term 'blow job', crass as he may have found it, but to his surprise the doctor's aim was lower, nuzzling the soft sac, taking one side and then the other gently into his mouth and sucking, a pressure and pleasure Spock could feel in the soles of his feet, the roots of his hair, and he slid down his elbows to lay all the way back and let the sensation overcome him.

"I had thought this to be an overly delicate area for human males," he said to keep from moaning. McCoy pulled away with increased suction and a wet sound and Spock did moan. 

"For some unlucky bastards," McCoy said, hot against his skin, then pressed his tongue against Spock's perineum.

"Doctor!" Spock cried, then felt ashamed, even if it was not his throat which could not hold the outburst.

"I know," McCoy said, petting Spock's thighs again, quieting him with a soft 'shh,' calming him with his thoughts as he moved, hands gliding to his hips. Spock couldn't watch, it was overcoming him, he had no controls in this body. He closed his eyes as McCoy wrapped a smooth hand around him and he felt hot breath on his cock, then soft, enveloping, wet heat, insistent tongue lapping at precome, fondling his foreskin, and that hand at the base that moved in time. He fought to remain still, to remain quiet and calm, even as McCoy's mind pleaded to him, 'let go', even as his body demanded he writhe, call out. How could humans endure this madness?

Then fingers found his in the bedsheets, interlaced, bringing their hands palm to palm, and there was a moan of pleasure but it was McCoy, and through the link Spock felt McCoy's pleasure too, saw without opening his eyes, McCoy's face, twisted in ecstasy. 

"Doctor," he panted, lifting his head and looking down, surprised to see his own face, his own mouth wrapped around McCoy's cock, wet with saliva. He almost came just watching McCoy pull off of him. 

"What the hell, Spock?"

Spock squeezed their joined hands and McCoy gave another moan, closing his eyes and gasping, for a moment he saw it again, McCoy's face, not his own, and then McCoy opened his eyes and they were as they were moments before.

"Are we…" McCoy said, lips unnaturally red, "are we switching back? Is this actually some weird sex cure?"

"No, doctor," Spock said, still a little breathless, "You are initiating a bond. More lasting than the temporary link shared when we touch. In fact it will be quite permanent if you continue as you are." He squeezed their hands once more, gentler than before, hoping to be understood.

McCoy whined, he actually looked a little desperate, which was not an expression Spock had ever seen on any Vulcan, but he seemed to understand. 

"Is that… " McCoy said tentatively, "Is that really a problem?" 

The answer was yes. Any Vulcan would say so, would end this, would have never let this illogical behavior go so far. 

McCoy waited, still looking uncertain. He squeezed their hands just as gently as Spock had and Spock felt a warm wave roll over him. He felt at once utterly bared, and completely secure.

"No, doctor," he said. "Please continue as you were."

McCoy smiled and if anything, began again with even greater enthusiasm, mouth hotter and faster and more demanding, and through the link Spock could feel it, McCoy's hard cock in his mouth, lips sliding over it, a hand in his, kneeling on the pillow, lying on his back, a hand in his, a mouth on his sex, a hand on his shaft, a hand in his hair, a hand in his, and together they came with a shout and a moan that might as well have been one.

Moments later McCoy climbed up onto the bed and collapsed next to Spock, their hands still joined, and either the weight of him or something else made Spock want to roll over into McCoy's space but he hesitated.

"C'mere", McCoy slurred in a voice that sounded too much like his own. "I don't know about you but I'm a cuddler, and you're in my body, so."

Spock didn't argue, just let himself be pulled closer to rest his head on McCoy's chest that was really Spock's chest. 

McCoy lifted their joined hands and considered them, then rubbed their palms together gently. They both sighed softly. "Is it always like that?" he asked, "I mean I came that second time without even touching myself."

Spock shrugged, which was something he was sure he'd never done before. "I have never had bonded intercourse. I was quite serious when I warned you of its permanence." He sensed something like panic from McCoy, but not regret. "It can be broken with the assistance of Vulcan elders, but I do not believe I would wish that."

Relief, affection, and McCoy pulled him a little tighter. After a moment, Spock began to drift off to sleep. He was halfway there when McCoy spoke.

"Can I kiss you, Spock?" McCoy asked softly.

Spock shifted to look at him. "I admit a certain curiosity for tasting your seed on my lips."

McCoy smiled with Spock's mouth. "Commander, you talk very dirty for a Vulcan."  
___

"After that it was only a matter of reversing the polarity and boosting the signal output," Bones said.

"And introducing both parties to the field simultaneously," Spock said.

"Great!" Jim said, not actually understanding anything he'd just heard. They all stood on the bridge, everyone watching. "And then you'll be back to normal? When do we do this, gentlemen?"

His first officer and his CMO looked at each other, then at him. 

"We already have," they said in unison.

He looked at Spock, then at Bones. Neither of their expressions angry or aloof, irritated or regal. In fact, they both looked fairly pleased with themselves.

"Okay... well that's great!" he said, then cleared his throat. "But, uh, what's with the handholding?"

They lifted their hands together, joined at the first and second fingers. 

Bones smirked. "Oh that? Well that's your standard Vulcan public display of affection." He rocked on the balls of his feet.

"Affection?" Jim asked.

"We are now a bonded pair, captain," Spock said, something like a smirk in the corner of his mouth as well.

The crew began to laugh as if suddenly in on the joke. Jim began to sweat. 

Bones didn't even look irritated at the laughter, he just leaned over and planted a kiss on Spock's cheek, which turned a little greener, and the laughter died.

Jim sighed. "This is not what I meant when I said you two were on your own."

"Consider, captain," Spock said reasonably, "the increased efficiency of the science department."

"Consider also," Bones said, smiling, "that you can all bite my ass."

Spock's brow furrowed. "Why should they wish to perform such an action on your posterior, doctor?"

"It's an expression, Spock, it means I don't give a damn what they think."

Spock nodded, satisfied. "In that case my posterior is also available for mastication."

"Alright, alright," Jim said, waving his hands. He was getting a headache. "Congratulations, I'm really happy for you both, but I'm pretty sure it's your shift, Spock. Get to your station. Bones, go back to your med bay--no, no kissing on the bridge, that's an order!"

He turned to the rest of his crew. All of them suddenly found things to be very busy doing.

Bones left in the turbolift. Spock went to his station. Jim sat in his chair. 

"Anybody else in love with anybody else?" he asked.

Everyone looked around. Six people raised their hands. Jim sighed.

"Forget it. Warp factor six, Mr. Sulu."


End file.
